The Silent Language
by Digitalis02
Summary: There are other ways to express emotions than speaking. Written for the Teslen Monthly Fic Challenge 2010!


A/N: Thought I'd give this February 'secret admirer' challenge thing a try and see how it goes! Plus, some uber-girly part of me couldn't resist a Valentine's fic, so I hope you enjoy my humble offerings! This is before the formation of The Five, btw, but Helen and Nikola are established friends. Anyway, Happy Valentine and Teslentine Day!

Enjoy and thanks for reading! :D

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The Silent Language

Flowers were a silent language.

Hidden meanings and sayings communicated feelings between people that were left unsaid. This silent language swept through Victorian England like a fever.

In 1884, Jean Marsh published The Language of Flowers, in London, and the fever continued to spread.

Helen never bought into such frivolity; her logical mind dismissing the nonsense. But the woman inside nonetheless quivered as Valentine's Day dawned.

The red velvet sack had appeared on her doorstep in the early morning hours, almost tripping over it in her haste to get to a university lecture. Addressed to her, but with no sending name.

Now, between lectures, Helen sat on the campus grass, sack untied, and holding a copy of the very book she thought nonsense.

In her other hand, held delicately, a single thornless rose entwined with a bouquet of white and yellow primroses springing up around it in full bloom. A white parchment wrapped around the stems held everything together with a red ribbon.

Helen's hand itched to open the book to find out the meanings of her flowers, completely in the face of her scorn.

Untying the ribbon, the parchment slipped off and revealed tiny, penned words.

_The Presence Of Love_

_And in Life's noisiest hour,_

_There whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee,_

_The heart's Self-solace and soliloquy._

_You mould my Hopes, you fashion me within;_

_And to the leading Love-throb in the Heart_

_Thro' all my Being, thro' my pulse's beat;_

_You lie in all my many Thoughts, like Light,_

_Like the fair light of Dawn, or summer Eve_

_On rippling Stream, or cloud-reflecting Lake._

_And looking to the Heaven, that bends above you,_

_How oft! I bless the Lot that made me love you. _

Her breath caught. And Helen felt her heart speed up.

Her eyes roamed the words once more, the poem affecting her even more the second time around. Flipping over the parchment, Helen searched desperately for a name, checking the velvet sack once more.

Nothing. Nothing to tell her who penned the words, who felt this love for her. Helen was breathless, and not because of her corset.

With slightly trembling fingers, Helen opened The Language of Flowers, and eyes used to reading medical journals instead skimmed over the beautifully illustrated pictures of flowers, seeking to find what her bouquet meant.

The flowers had separate meanings, but entwined and appearing together, according to the book, conveyed a single message: _It was love at first sight for me, and now I can't live without you. _

Helen's mouth parted in wonder and her eyes were huge on her face.

The campus sounds faded away as her heart hammered inside her chest, so affected by this mysterious Valentine. And she so dearly wished to know who.

She brought the flowers to her nose, inhaling the sweet smells.

A hand snatched the book off her lap while a body flopped down next to her on the grass. "You actually read this?" Nikola Tesla, her only friend on campus for the past two years, held a look of disdain. His eyes lit upon her gifts. "How sweet," he mocked. "And who sent this to you?"

Taking his abrasive nature in stride, Helen gently took her book back and wrapped her gift back up, but left the flowers out, admiring them. "I don't know. There was no name."

"A secret admirer then," he reclined on the grass with his arms crossed over his chest, "no doubt using this contrived and useless day to pour out his love for you." Nikola's eyes narrowed as he studied her face intently. "Did it work? You were looking particularly entranced when I arrived."

"It was sweet, very sweet." Helen smiled fetchingly at her gift. "Though I confess that I wished he had signed his name."

"He is a coward as well then. This absurd day brings out all sorts of libertine characters. Your admirer is probably one of them." Nikola dismissed their talk and closed his eyes.

Whipping her head to retort, feeling oddly defensive of her gift and her secret admirer, Helen opened her mouth only to close it as her eyes caught sight of a brightly-colored object clinging to the inside of Nikola's coat, which had flopped open.

A tiny yellow petal...eerily similar to the primrose petals in her bouquet. Helen's eyes widened and her breath stopped as she looked at the petal and her flowers.

Rather comically, Helen's head swung from one object to another, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and delightfully suspicious.

The dots took less than a second to connect in her mind and Helen's cheeks flamed.

Could he really...? She looked at Nikola's blissfully peaceful face, searching for a sign of the affection that led to gifting her with such beautiful words and flowers.

There was none, but Nikola was never one to wear his heart on his sleeve. That she had learned in the two years they'd known each other. Love at first sight? Nikola loved her? Helen inhaled sharply at the knowledge.

And he **obviously **didn't want her to know.

Helen felt suddenly bereft at having not a card for Nikola, some way to show him how much he meant to her as well. Some way to show him that, as fantastical as it seemed, she was open to his regard.

Her eyes fell onto the book Nikola had anonymously gifted her and an idea caused her lips to sweep upwards.

"Will you be at tonight's lecture? Our papers are to be submitted." Helen studied her friend with new eyes, daring to believe the seemingly unbelievable. Her voice held the slightest tremor.

Nikola didn't notice and merely grunted, which she took as an affirmative.

"Good." Helen took a deep shaky breath and amid a flush working up her neck, she bent her head and gently placed a feathery kiss on Nikola's cheek.

His eyes snapped open and they nearly knocked heads as he shot up from where he lay. Nikola looked stunned, Helen was blushing, and he reverently covered his cheek with a hand.

"Wh...what was that?"

Saying nothing to answer, Helen's lips curled into a shy smile. "I'll see you in class then." Ducking her head, Helen picked up her skirts and bustled off, clutching her flowers and gift tightly in her arms.

Nikola could watch, mouth gaping with his stomach in knots as Helen nearly crashed into that insufferable James Watson before disappearing down the lane to the city proper.

Helen scurried in, almost late, giving a nod to another student, Nigel Griffin who held the door open for her, and took her seat next to Nikola.

The class passed quickly or slowly, depending on whether one asked Helen or Nikola and with a goodbye smile to him, Helen headed out towards home.

Heading to his own dorm room, Nikola bumped shoulders with a smirking John Druitt, and after exchanging glares, Nikola's footsteps echoed down the empty hall where his room was located at the end of a slightly dusty hall that no one used. Nikola didn't mind the solitude one bit.

His footsteps slowed as Nikola noticed something lying in front of his door. Brow furrowing in confusion as he picked up a rather mismatched bouquet of small flowers. Each different than the other.

_Nikola Tesla_, was scrawled in elegant handwriting that he recognized as belonging to one woman. And his heart immediately lumped up in his throat.

Opening his door, Nikola threw his books on the ground and plucked out a piece of folded parchment nestled amongst the flowers with unexpectedly sweaty hands. Unfolding it, his blue-gray eyes attentively took in each word.

_For the man often misunderstood, who dreams in currents and wires, with hopes for the world that transcend the sky, on a journey seemingly alone._

_A yellow heather to say: You are admired._

_A laurustinus to declare: You are understood amidst adversity._

_An iris to affirm: You are not alone in your dreams._

_A honeyflower to softly speak: You are cherished. _

_A red rose to whisper: You are loved._

_For the man who has captivated me with his passion, a part of you lies within my heart, never to be forgotten and always to be adored. _

_For the man who scorns this day of love, know that someone thinks of you, and that someone is me. _

_And when the time comes, when all your dreams have come true, on that dawning day, my only wish is to be standing there, beside you._

_ Helen_

Nikola softly smiled.

He had found a new appreciation for Valentine's Day.

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Poem by: Samuel Taylor Coleridge


End file.
